Untitled Work In Progress
by Dienne Herlsif
Summary: Hermione, a teacher now, wakes up sober one morning, and yes, there is a man on her arm.
1. Instinct and Memory

Disclaimer: Yes, I'm sure there are similar fics out there, and I've probably read a bunch of them... please bitch at me if I have unconsciously used your influence. And of course, the usual 'me no Rowling' has now been included. R&R please!

Also note that I am an American. I probably won't remember to use a 24-hour clock; the ground floor and the first floor are the same here; and there are probably other details I'm forgetting. If you'd point them out to me that'd be really cool...

* * *

_Untitled Work In Progress_

Chapter One - Instinct and Memory

* * *

There are just some things that become instinct. The kind of things you know even just before you wake up from a peaceful night's sleep. Hermione Granger's memory was incredible, and instinct could usually count on her thinking before reacting these days. Hermione remembered most all of her past: those flashes of memories from being very little, expectations of perfection growing up, getting her letter to Hogwarts, becoming a best friend of Harry Potter's, and therefore facing death with regularity.

Actually that wouldn't happen anymore. Harry and Voldemort had finally killed each other off. It was a bittersweet moment when Hermione heard the news, two years after she graduated from Hogwarts. In that time, stress and old age had caught up with Albus Dumbledore. Minerva McGonagall had taken over as headmistress. Severus Snape was still teaching potions, but had taken post as deputy headmaster also. Hermione had become the transfiguration teacher.

Hermione was easily caught up in depression. Life was good for most everyone. The danger of Lord Voldemort had passed, after all. At Harry's funeral, she found that she couldn't cry... so she had allowed herself no show of emotion since. That was the last time she saw Ron. Without Harry as the peacemaker, the friendship quickly dissolved. A month afterward she had owled him, a difficult letter to write, she decided, and two months had passed without a reply.

Besides problems with Ron, her parents were really on her case about finding a nice man to settle down with, now that she had chosen a solid job. She hated the feeling of being pressured, and yet she couldn't deny the loneliness that came with the loss of her two best friends. And being a teacher at Hogwarts didn't help her personal life at all. She would put on a smile and make appearances in the Great Hall, but her life had more or less become solitude.

This was what Hermione knew even before she woke up that life-altering morning. As memories slowly came into focus, the loneliness seemed distant. Her whole body ached, her head worst of all. As her short-term memory returned, ghosts of sensations from her binge on foul-tasting liquor came back to her. "I don't care exactly what you bring me," she had told a house elf the night before, "But I need some serious alcohol."

From the moment of the first sip, however, recollection eluded her. Now, her legs were tangled in the cream sheets, her brown hair was a mess from all angles at her head, and yet despite her aches and pains, she felt refreshed from her sleep. All seemed normal enough there. Hermione's left arm was out at a ninety-degree angle from her body, and there was a very large warm weight on it. Not normal.

She nearly groaned, wondering what she had done. Thank God it was now Saturday so she wouldn't have to worry what time it was and if she was supposed to be teaching a class at the moment. She pried unwilling brown eyes open and twisted her neck left.

Yes, there was a man on her arm.

But wait a minute. This was a man that Hermione knew. He was even thinner than she would have expected, if the thought would have ever come across her mind, but what weight he did have was all muscle. He was up on his left side, facing away from her, so the body type might normally have not given away identity... but no one could mistake that shoulder-length, raven hair. Ha, but her brain still wouldn't believe it. Motionless as possible, for fear of disturbing this particular man's sleep, she lifted herself a bit and peered over his shoulder.

Yes, there was a Severus Snape on her arm.

Worse, his weight trapped her there with conscious knowledge of it. _Okay, self, calm the rising panic. Just breathe, we'll think of something to do._ They decided, go figure, on asking and answering questions.

Who and what? Snape and sex, apparently. During her student years, she would have cringed at the thought, but now it just seemed to pose more questions, these relating to consequenses of their act. She kept her mind open about what makes a good person, especially when it came to the colleague bound to the side of light with such honor that he would risk his life for the cause... but that was a train of thought she'd rather not examine at the moment.

Where? Well, Snape certainly hadn't been in the room when she took that first sip. Hogwarts held too many possibilities to currently contemplate every location either of them might have been in and who they might have met on the their way to another.

When? Late the last night until... oh it was probably eight o'clockish. She never naturally slept in late. Just to make sure though, she craned her neck in the opposite direction to glance at the clock on the nightstand. 8:15.

The _why?_ of the situation was obvious enough: She had been drunk. No idea if he had been. Interesting twist, that.

And finally we come to _how_? Once again, we admit that liquor had something to do with it... but Snape, like Hermione, was only seen in class and at mealtimes. He had even slowed down on his favorite hobby of night-patrolling/terrorizing... Well, maybe that wasn't a fair statement. Student!Hermione might have thought it, but adult!Hermione knew better than to make such foolish assumptions; assumptions had caused her two near-death experiences during her sixth year. It was still a fact, however, that Snape wasn't one for getting out. So how was he drawn all the way from his dungeon quarters to her second floor? What could possibly have gotten into him... or forced him... to do so?

Okay, answering questions wasn't such a good idea. Only more came up... but she was calm. That had been the point anyway, right? No time to consider further, for he was moving now. He was shifting into fetal position and muttering. She waited patiently for the jolt of consciousness and _oh, God, what did we do?_ to hit him.

But that didn't come. Upon inspection, she found his eyes moving under their lids. He was dreaming, and, obviously, this dream was becoming perpetually more unpleasant. Muttering turned into indecipherable monosyllabic shouts and his frame began to shake with shudders and shivers. Hermione brought over her right hand, the free one, and gripped his within it. "Hush," she said before snuggling up to his back, intending to calm him. A trembling Snape was probably the most unnerving thing she had ever seen.

Suddenly, he was wide awake. He freed them both from each other's contact and turned himself around to face her. That lasted only a split second before he sat straight up, but the moment of eye contact brought some subconscious understanding to Hermione. However, no time was allowed to think of all the meaning in what she saw in those nearly black eyes - moments of each fear, confusion, frustration, hope, loss, and then anger - for immediately he voiced the question, "What in the hell is going on?"

* * *


	2. Let's Go Back a Bit

A/N - I don't think it's necessary to repeat the same disclaimer at every chapter. If there's anything new to say, I'll say it when it comes up.

YAY reviews!!! Thank you all! If anyone else feels like contributing, all thoughts welcome. Thanks.

Some very special thanks for:  
**Sooboir**: That was the line that got reaction from my best friend, also. Rock on!  
**mavidian**: Yeah, adult!Hermione is gonna be a hard character to write, but I find I'm a lot like her myself, so I figured I should give it a shot!  
**All Mighty Terrestrial**: Evil House Elf conspiracy? Damn, dude, Ima have to check out that long list of fics on your profile page! Don't be surprised, however, if the house elves _do_ show up... mwahaha.  
**Jessicat1982**: Yeah, that nightmare... had to really think about how he'd act when his subconscious takes over. Fun to delve into Snape-psychology!

Sorry this chapter took so long. Dream sequence took _forever_. One Hundred house points to whoever emails the best explanation of my symbols and therefore forshadowing! My reference: _Dreamer's Dictionary_, Garuda. Plus, I don't know what happened with my HTML tags screwing up... so, trying again now. Thanks!

* * *

_Untitled Work In Progress_

Chapter Two - Let's go back a bit...

* * *

He was scared. She was taking the same direction he had at her age, and this just scared the hell out of him.

Severus Snape wasn't one to be easily frightened by some young Gryffindor know-it-all, so he watched her. He made a mental note of each day that there was public sight of Hermione Granger, and the number of occurances had indeed slowed down. He watched as her potential brilliance withdrew into seclusion. Even a staff meeting would sometimes bring another professor's concern for her out, and she would just shrug it off and change the subject. This was not good.

However, the more Snape watched, the easier it became for him to like her. She was an amazing teacher, although some students liked to pin her as 'strict.' That is, until _his_ presence was made aware of. She had grown into an attractive young woman, he remarked to himself one night in his own seclusion. Modest, but nonetheless attractive. She must go through conditioner like mad, he decided, the way her brown hair was much smoother and wavy these days rather than curly and frizzy.

Snape snorted and sat still for a moment. Then he quickly rose from his char at the unlit hearth and headed for the shower.

* * *

The house elves had lit a fire in the hearth by the time he emerged from his private bath, hair now shiny rather than greasy. That fire would be ignored, however. It was late, but Snape had a feeling Hermione would actually welcome a little flare of drama. She was a Gryffindor, after all.

No interruption came as he stalked up the dungeon steps. Peeves darted out of his sight on the next staircase, and then he was heading down the hall to Hermione's rooms. The swift movement allowed for a thoughtless journey, but once he was stopped in front of her door, he hesitated. He didn't believe in preparing a speech when the time came to express some emotion.

Again Snape snorted and remained still for a moment. The he quickly raised his hand and knocked.

"Heeeey Professsorr..."

Problems. One - her pupils were dialated and her speech was slurred, which translates to: she was drunk... or high. Two - while on a drug of some kind, she had called him 'Professor,' aka, 'someone never thought of in _that way_.' Damn.

He sighed. "You are drunk, Professor Granger. You ought to go to bed now."

Her eyes widened and she very obviously forced a gasp. "I'mmnnotddrunk!" She giggled and turned around to half-dance, half-stumble to her chair by the fire. "...drunk, drunk, drunk, drunk, drunk, drunk, drunk, drunk, drunk, drunk, drunk, drunk, drunk..."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. _I'm in love with this woman?_

"Snape! Baby, come sit down!"

Hesitant, he moved farther into the room, but simply stood at the edge of the hearth. There was only the one chair anyway.

"No, come sit rrriiiiight here." She patted the arm of her chair with one hand and reached for a clear, unmarked bottle with the other. Oblivious to Snape's lack of motion, Hermione took a careful sip of whatever drink she had and grimaced before turning and offering it to him.

Snape inwardly shrugged. This was the chance to figure out what she was drinking, and, what the hell, if anything regrettable was said or done he could blame it on the alcohol later. Really there wasn't much missing from the bottle. He saw no others in the room, so how could she really be drunk from so little? Before even thinking of tasting he brought the bottle closer to smell it.

Holy fuck, it nearly burned off his nose hairs. Well... this was interesting. Hey, if Hermione Granger could drink it, he could surely manage. An experimental sip was nearly spit out. It tasted like... _peroxide_. "What is this?" he asked, a bit harsher than he really intended. He would have to monitor that habit if he wanted to make another out of conversing with her. Maybe when she was sober she would just be smart enough to understand.

Hermione shrugged with no recoil to his tone. Thank God. "Dunno... but if you're not gonna hav'nny more, I'll take it baack and keep it aallll for mysefff."

Time to chug it.

* * *

Memory not often failed Severus, but when trying to pinpoint the moment pure unconsciousness ended and the half-reality of dream began, a problem usually occurred. Especially when the dream took place in near darkness. The moment was, in fact, when his subconscious stuck him on the far side of the lake, nearer to Hogsmeade. A new moon relaxed in a blanket of stars, and the town was silent behind him. In front of him was the cross of two paths, and immediately he opted for the southeastern route, right over the lake and towards Hogwarts.

Hogwarts castle, however, was now turned into a fortress, as castles were originally intended to be. His feet knew the path, and his eyes stayed on the slowly revealed details. Fort!Hogwarts was ablaze and thick smoke poured into the sky. A very sharp, cold wind blew up in his face before completely switching direction so there was no smoke obscuring his view.

If Snape had seen what was next in the real light of day - or night, whatever - he would have questioned the amount of toxins in his brain. However, at the moment, this vision of Dumbledore headed his way - wearing a plain skirt and with horns growing out of his forehead - was perfectly normal but for a small hint of fear creeping up within him at the sight.

He was unable to react or even think as Dumbledore grasped Snape's arm and displayed it toward the castle, although there was no human audience. "Severus Snape, can't you see who you are!"

That small hint of fear blossomed into panic as visions of his old Deather Eater ties danced before his eyes. He tried to scream, but his voice was all fuzzy and scratched and stopped, like a broken radio in water.

"A traitor to all, you can go back to Voldemort!"

Snape had last seen Voldemort three years past. He was nearly in full power then, and had managed to reclaim the good looks of his youth. This Voldemort was a ghost of that image. He was supposed to be dead now anyway, but it was still a shocker in a dream where Dumbledore appeared to be alive and kicking. Ha, bad pun, since he actually was kicking Snape to get his feet moving. He still had a grip on the arm with the Dark Mark, now burning black, and this odd angle of pressure began breaking bones where Dumbledore was kicking at his legs.

When Dumbledore's grip slackened, Snape's first instinct was to run. Not possible on broken legs, until the crutches appeared under his arms. Voldemort was too fast, though, and came right up behind him, wrapping both arms around him. Snape was losing badly now, and started to sob. He blinked hard once in an attempt at holding back those damned tears...

And it was over. Morning light met his eyes upon opening, as well as a thousand sensations different from the dream. There was a being at his back, he could tell, and he whirled around to face it. Ah! It was all so confusing! A split-second's look registered the unknown being to be Hermione Granger, and he immediately sat straight up. What he could recall of the previous night flowed into focus, but bedding Hermione was not archived anywhere.

"What in the hell is going on?"

* * *


End file.
